


Little Rat

by DaniLastName



Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Blood Kink, Death, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Knifeplay, Mental Instability, Near Death Experiences, Psychosis, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-10 10:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15289299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniLastName/pseuds/DaniLastName
Summary: (Please read tags)Damien's neice comes to celebrate his death and ends up reviving a near-dead DJ she hopes to keep caged.Post-Bad Blood, spoilers, and descriptive violence - this is a smut-revolving experimental splurge about Defalt because he simply doesn't have enough lore





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brink is a character based on an old OC of mine, Eros, from an old Fallout 3 fic. Don't expect to relate to her.

His face was hot. His lips were dry. He had a headache that split his skull and seemed to push his eyes and spine close together. He coughed, an ache in his chest like he'd been beaten. He couldn't remember where he was or why he felt like his body had met a car thresher. A soft voice make him jump, pain creeping across his insides as he tried to shift.

"Don't move. You're going to be sore for awhile." It was a girl dressed in dark clothes that his blurry sight couldn't make out, but her stark blonde hair added a minute definition. Jay tried to move his hand to touch his face, but realized he was bound by the wrists to the bed he found himself in. He lolled his head to the side, the view of a hotel room becoming clearer as he blinked hard. It was expensive - plush couches sat in the corner and a giant mirror lined the wall behind the TV. A hand brushed his forehead and he tried to pull away, but his body wouldn't move. She spoke again, her face hidden in enough shadows to keep him from recognizing her, or at least getting enough to remember later. "You have to rest. You've been to Hell, honey." 

He sneered at the name, futiley fighting at the restraints again. He tried to speak, but his throat constricted and he choked. The girl sighed and moved out of his view. It was then that he realized his mask was gone. His little bit of safety in any situation wasn't even in his peripheral vision. He tried to remember what could have brought him here. 

There was smoke. Gas. He'd been at a computer. He remembered coughing and falling before nothingness. 

He had been trying to kill Kenney. But the fucker had some other old asshole to back him up and turned the situation back on Jay. 

He could taste the gas he'd tried to set on Kenney, bitter and strong on the back of his tongue and against his gums. 

The girl reappeared and lifted his head, shoving a pillow underneath him before she held a bottle of water to his lips. "Come on." She was like a ghostly nurse - some image of a past life that treats you like a child in a bombing. He was disgusted at her treatment of him. He wanted to be loose, drink whatever the fuck he wanted, and leave this weird room and this weird girl. 

Jay was lost in rage when a spark of pain rushed against his cheek and he realized she'd slapped him. He made a sound of protest, a small growl and shout that made his throat burn with the embers of dehydration. She touched the water to his lips again and he let her, glaring at her undiscernable features. 

It felt like diving into the ocean after sunburning for hours. She was silent, letting him close his eyes and feel revived by the water clearing his throat of the metal and poisonous taste. She tossed the empty water bottle across the room and dropped herself onto a couch, yards away in the oversized room. Jay coughed again and found his voice. "Where the fuck am I?" 

She snorted in a fake laugh and shook her head. "Your stupid ass nearly got killed by your own fucking trap." She tipped her head in the dim light. "Don't you know, rat's can't set traps." 

He huffed and looked away, pressing his cheek to the coolness of the bedsheet. He looked down to see how she'd bound his hands, and was only somewhat surprised to see that it was a serious, good-old-fashioned leather BDSM cuff linked to the other beneath the bed. A heavy padlock on either cuff weighed them down and kept him from even twitching his arm without a muscle straining in pain. He looked back at the girl - she was on her phone and he could finally see her. 

She reminded him of someone, but his brain still ached too much to let him try to remember. Her bleached hair hung over her shoulders to touch along breasts half-revealed by an ultra-low tank top that hung from her like rags. A black-laced bra peeked out just beneath a colorful tattoo he couldn't make out. 

She glanced up with an expressionless face. "You want a trip to make you feel better?" She asked like it was an offer she'd make to anyone. It made him uneasy how dead her eyes were. He was used to women ogling his mask and ass with dilated pupils and alcohol in their blood. 

She rose and picked up an mp3 player and headphones on the table nearby. He didn't need to answer, and soon she was placing the sound-proof cushioning of the headphones to his ears. A soft drone of white noise filled his senses and Jay closed his eyes, so used to the feeling of taking on a digital trip, it was hardly a conscious choice anymore. Heavy bass made a crescendo into vibrating depths, and he realized this wasn't one of his. He'd made digital trips out of binary beats to give people a legal - well, at least, not dangerous - way of getting high and taking a break from life. 

These beats were deep like a tiger's growl and he was already gone before the binary beats began. 

 

Brink watched Defalt's eyes close and she smiled to herself, setting the mp3 by his side as he drifted away. She'd configured the music to tear people from their bodies and take them into a deep sleep, unlike Jay's, which had a more recreational use. 

The idiot had gassed himself inadvertently. She'd been monitoring the judgment over Raymond Kenney, led by the DJ, from outside, having followed his trail of hacked ctOS profiles and sloppy digital fingerprints. She'd only been in the ugly city for two days before she found the DJ trying to lure Kenney into a death trap, for which she didn't blame him at all. The guy wanted revenge, and she wasn't the type to ignore that lust.

Brink was a dirty person. She always had been. Whether it was blood, earth, or the residue of a freshly-shot pistol on her, she was always far from the fresh-skinned divas that walked Chicago's high-end streets. She was far from home in the darkened streets that smelled of sweet green and death. She was never complete. Never even close to the feeling of home.

Her uncle, Damien, was dead. His calls had stopped and she hadn't felt so free in years. The crawling on her skin hadn't appeared in days, his voice and bravado absent from her life like a pulled tooth. She'd begun the process of grief, she supposed, when she boarded a plane from Denver to Chicago, entering the city Damien would have strangled her for. He was a fucked man - one that terrorized her from the day of her birth to the day of his death - calling to check that she wasn't nearby, wasn't planning a blackout or a drop-in on his perfect little _Aiden Pearce._ Hed blown cigarette smoke across her bedroom, twisted her cat's neck and thrown it into a river to teach her how hard life was, and even pressed her hip at her father's barbecue when she was a teenager.

She couldn't avoid him when he was alive. He'd call every few days to ask her what she was doing, what she was wearing, what she saw outside her window, just to soothe his own paranoia. He knew she'd gut him if she had the chance. He knew damn well that if she entered his territory, it would be a bloody fight. So she stayed away, secretly praying someone would put an end to him.

She was answered by a silent phone sitting on her desk for a week before she reached out to confirm Damien's death. She was overjoyed, drinking until her world spun and the weed tasted like chocolate on her parched tongue. She'd fucked men she didn't know and grinned at starlight on a balcony she couldn't place. She'd spent hundreds of dollars on stupid things she'd never buy. She celebrated her uncle's passing like a messiah's rebirth.

She'd found a club - a huge building with glittering neon and subpar cleanliness.

A bounce let her pass and he opened the door, a flood of neon lighting and the warmth of human bodies escaping, washing over her like water. She entered into the darkness of the club, the swell of bass reverberating through her skeleton, and she saw a masked DJ on the stage at the end of the vaulted room. A roar rose from the crowd around her and he pointed a thin middle finger to them as a heavy drop hit the room like a bomb.

She watched, unwavering in the swarm of thrusting and swaying bodies knocking into her, as the man played through a set. His music was edged with dragon-like roars of bass and heavy bass that made the space between her legs uncomfortably warm. Something about the feeling of noise passing through her made her want to fuck, even without the drugs she knew others were on. His mask was pointed at her, the knife-like spike of his rat's nose, but she knew was likely just misreading it.

There was a stark parallel between the way screaming, gutteral bass sounded against her ears and the way her blood ran when she'd cut her arms in the middle of the night. Something in the way it hurt and pleased her brain, the way it left her needy for more until her eardrums had to burst reminded her of teasing and soft kisses in the dark with strangers before pocketing what they had.

His head tilted and he started dipping into the beat of his music. It seemed to live through the screeching blue of his mask, vibrating the floor and sticking into her eyes like needles. Brink smiled and moved out of the crowd, towards the stairwell to the stage where a dimly-lit bar smelled of gin and sex. She watched him from his profile, a strong jawline adding a stark definition to his featureless mask. She saw his foot tap in time, eventually signaling a song change for him to warp his spine and twitch his neck to before returning to the comfortable stance of a musician watching his art push bodies together the way a cult would fuck and sacrifice to their God.

There was something in the way he stood that made it obvious he wasn't just a man. He bent a knee, dipping into a drop as it hit like an orgasm, threading through the air with hammer-like pounding, and she saw in him a killer - someone who would kick a body to death with her and kiss above it. She could imagine him tearing away the mask and fucking her into the ground.

But no one, male or female or outside or in-between, had ever been enough. They'd kissed her body like a tender statue, pushed inside her like fruit against teeth; but she needed more. She needed blood, greed, begging, and screams. She wanted to fear for her life when she fucked.

And this man, masked as he thrust his hips into the air, seemed somewhat prepared for it. 

That's when she began tracing him, the slender DJ with a gun pointed at Kenney from the day he found his name. She followed Jay's phone through the city on a map, watching him prepare traps and psychological minefields for the older man, somewhat touched by how sincerely the kid wanted to kill. 

It was when he'd started the resolution of the matter that the hacker seemed to hit his peak and found himself in a quick decline towards death. She'd watched him choke, flipping a table, before falling into a chair as he asphyxiated. She cut the stream from his camera and broke into the room, holding her breath to drag Jay out of the suicide-bag he'd made. She wasn't gentle, having to throw him, unconscious, over the giant, narcissistic LED rat head that had blocked his way out. Outside, she took him to a 'field medic,' a poor but trained medical student who handed out sub-par treatments for cash. He'd resuscitated the DJ, adding a heavy tranquilizer to ensure he let his muscles and blood refill with oxygen while she extended her reservation at the hotel to accommodate him. 

 

Now, he was really alive. She didn't know why she'd gone in, why she'd wasted money on bringing him back from the Brink of death, but she figured it was something about how earnestly he'd tried to kill Kenney. It was in the mad giggling fit he'd had as he watched, hoping the older man would gasp to death for him. She liked him for how aggressively he played. 

She settled onto the bed beside him, leaning her head against the wall to finally relax. She'd been planning how to write out a contract for fixers to destroy the body, but was glad more money hadn't been wasted. 

Without his mask and in a deep sleep, he looked cute. His facial features were surprisingly defined, strong yet soft in tandem. He had brown hair that fell across his forehead and ears, just enough to conceal piercings along his lobes. And now, he was hers. He was entirely at her fingertips, a little rat caught between her claws and a wall. She thoughtlessly played with his hair while he slept, imagining the sound of his voice when she'd eventually slice his flesh and bruise his throat. 

 

He was awake by the time she'd finished showering, having shaken off the headphones to lie in a pouting puddle of anger. She couldn't help but smile at his discomfort. "Good morning, sunshine," she greeted, rubbing her hair in a towel. He pretended not to hear and continued glaring at the ceiling. She hated when her partners tried to ignore her. 

She undid the edge of the towel around her chest and let it fall, exposing herself as she fingered through her suitcase for something to wear. She saw his head turn in her peripheral vision and smirked. He was quiet as she threw on a long shirt of some band she cared about once. The hem grazed her thigh, just enough to make it obvious she would remain commando as she sat on the edge of the bed by his waist. 

He finally spoke, an odd calm in his voice, "What happened?" 

"You killed yourself, you stupid fuck. Kenney switched the output to your vents and you almost asphyxiated. I got you out. I also handed over two grand to get oxygen in you, and another five hundred for the room."

"Who the fuck are you to be saving me?" He spat. She didn't look back at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction. 

"Brink. I'm your savior now, Jay. That makes you mine." 

"Fuck that!" He pulled at his restraints and kicked a leg in angry effort. "I should have fuckin' died. You should've left me there. I couldn't even..." His voice broke and she thought he might have an episode. "I couldn't even do the one _fucking_ thing I've been planning for years." 

Brink turned her head to look at his reddened cheeks. She couldn't tell if he was sensitive or immature, the way his eyes became bloodshot and he grit his teeth. She reached over him and ran the back of her hand against his heated jaw. He didn't shrink away this time, but didn't look at her. She soothed, "I'll help you. I'll get you your revenge. But you have to do what I say."

He glanced at her for a quick moment, breathing slowly in thought. "What does that mean?" 

She smiled, almost sadistic as her voice dripped in honey; "It means you're mine, Jay. It means you do what I say and you thank me for it because I gave you the life you're living now."

He snarled at the thought and thrashed against the bed. "I'd rather fucking die than be your fuckin' slave, bitch!" he shouted, the bedsprings squeaking beneath him. 

Brink laughed lightly and stepped away, turning to face him. "You're not a slave, baby. I'm not going to have you feeding me and rubbing my feet." She grabbed the bottom of her shirt and yanked it off, the smell of detergent still fresh on it from the short use. "Let me show you what I mean." 

He was stark-faced, trying to keep his angry expression while he stilled, letting her fingers dance across the crotch of his jeans. She kneeled beside his hip, breasts bouncing as she settled, the hot skin of her knees pressing into his side.

 

His breathing was short and slow as she leaned forward, undoing his jeans and pulling them down to touch him through his boxers. He wondered if he was in the same clothes he'd been in when he 'died.' 

His mind blanked out when she pressed her lips against the cloth covering his dick, and he felt an uncomfortable twitch and bit his lip. Her eyes lifted and met his while she dragged her lips down the length of his dick, which slowly hardened beneath her touch. He didn't want to be here - he didn't want to be alive, even. But he felt his own blood rushing when she reached her hand down the elastic of his boxers and pulled him free. She sucked his still-soft head between her lips and pulled him into her mouth, nuzzling against the hair at his base with her nose, inhaling his scent loudly. Jay wanted to fight it. He just fucking woke up, alive again, and now he was essentially being molested. 

A soft sound left his lips as she sucked, curling her fingers around his cock to encourage blood flow. She hummed and he twitched his head against the mattress, holding back his groans as the vibrations filled his mind. He looked back to watch her lips spread across his skin, and their eyes met. Jay bit his lip again and curled his spine, partly trying to escape her touch just to regain his confidence. 

Instead, she pressed harder, letting him grow against the back of her throat while she breathed slowly through her nose, encouraging him with her tongue against the underside of his dick. He felt himself sinking, giving into the feeling of her hot mouth and strong tongue against him. No matter how he tried to escape later, he could at least enjoy her touch for now. 

Brink pulled away, stroking him slowly as she stared at his bare face. He felt uncomfortable as she stared, used to a safe place behind the neon and staggering points of his mask.

She leaned forward, letting her breasts drag along his abdomen to his chest before she pressed her lips to his hungrily. She forced his mouth open with hers, invading him with her tongue before he gave in and moaned to the soft jerks of her hand on his dick. Jay pressed against her in a semblance of power, but was made a groaning mess when she moved her mouth to his throat, biting hard enough to break his skin between her teeth. He cringed and twitched when he felt blood and heat flow to her mouth, but he loved it. He wanted her to bite every part of him, filling him with that hot pain until he grabbed her jaw and forced her to swallow his cum. 

But she was leading their movements. She straddled his hips, rubbing him between his stomach and her wetness. Jay writhed again, biting back a groan as his hips twitched upward. She giggled, a sound of control more than pleasure, and her lip twitched as she bent forward, brushing her nipples against his collar bones. "Are you gonna be a good boy, Jay?"

He bared his teeth in a sneer and pretended not to notice his hips moving against her. She grabbed his jaw between her fingers and yanked his head to face her. Her eyes were dark and serious, her jaw set in a dominating way. She thrust against him, her clit pressing into the head of his cock. "I don't repeat myself. I don't ask,  I don't say 'please,' and I don't hear the word 'no.' Understand?" He nodded quickly and felt her fingers tighten threateningly above his balls. "Tell me you'll be a good boy." 

Jay grit his teeth, trying to figure a way past the humiliation. His arms were bound, he was pressed into the mattress by her legs, and his face was captive in her hand. Finally, he sighed shortly through his nose and muttered, "I'll be a good boy." 

She beamed sadistically and let his chin go, grinding evenly against him while she reached toward the floor, picking something up she'd placed just for this moment. Defalt felt his breath hitch when she threw the blade of a knife straight with her thumb, her fingers gentle in a trail along his stomach. She whispered, "Good," before the cold metal pressed into his abdomen. It wasn't enough to hurt, yet, but he could feel her holding back as she left white, raised trails across the skin by his navel. His cock twitched beneath her and she lifted an eyebrow suggestively.

He couldn't speak when her wrist jerked and the knife slashed across his stomach, right near the head of his building erection. She bit her lip and hummed, dropping the knife to run her fingers along the cut. Blood burst in tiny droplets at her touch and flowed down his side and onto the sheets. Jay groaned, the heat of the slice aching across his skin while she trailed blood towards his groin. 

Brink giggled, a sound that resonated with lust, and lifted her hips, freeing his dick from the heat of his abdomen. She grabbed him with bloodied fingers and lined herself up, pushing him into her already-wet cunt. She threw her head back as he pressed against the tightness of her muscles and into a heat the made him buck in her grasp. 

As soon as her ass hit his thighs, she bent forward, moaning into his ear as he hit an angle inside her. She repeated, "Just do as I say, baby." 

He felt powerless and humiliated in her hands, bleeding onto the sheets while she sat with him buried inside her. She arched and pressed her breasts flat to his chest, biting into the side of his neck with fervor. Jay jumped a bit at the feeling of his skin splitting between her lips, and he felt the knife's point trailing down his side. In an instant, she lifted her hips to slam herself down, a rush of endorphins making his mind hazy. He'd almost lost track of the knife before it dug into his side, inches away from the now-congealing blood of her first cut. Jay hissed, flinching away, but he was stuck beneath her, and only seemed to motivate a deeper cut that bled like tears. 

Brink released the skin in her teeth and sat up, eyeing the mess he was leaving on the white sheets. She placed her palm flat against the incision and began riding him, her ass slapping against his balls and her skin sending shocks of pain through his side. 

Jay dug his head into the bed, groaning at her movements as the sweet tightness of her pussy gave him chills. She dropped the blade and her hand traveled up his ribs, opposite from the cuts, and to his throat. She tilted her head forward and a dark expression left him gasping as her fingers tightened around his neck, knuckles pressed into his Adam's apple. It was almost traumatizing how she choked him, his vision darkening as she bounced on his cock, happy moans dropping like leaves. 

Jay gasped against her hold and squirmed beneath the too-hot feeling of her palm on his bleeding side, but she wouldn't give. She leaned forward again, still slamming herself onto him punishingly. "You're mine, Jay," she whispered. 

Too quickly for him to register, she leaned backwards and the bloodied hand left him to touch against his balls before he felt the intrusive feeling of her finger against his ass. He wanted to protest and kick her off, but her grip tightened further against his air when she pressed in, his own blood a viscous lubricant. 

He couldn't help it. He'd never been so humiliated - never felt so used or fucked. He twitched inside of her and felt an overwhelming warmth as he came, his muscles twitching around her finger as he cried out pitifully. He'd shut his eyes, thrusting his hips into hers, relishing the touch inside of him as he came, an orgasm so unnatural it made his skull fizz. 

She laughed and moaned and sighed all at once, removing her finger to ride the last of his over-sensitive twitches away. Jay made a disgraceful whimper when she moved away, and he hid half of his face against the sheets. 

Soft lips pressed against his cheek and her voice was soft like candlelight. "Are you okay?" 

He hadn't expected the question. He'd expected another slap or for her to disappear to smoke a cigarette while he cried like a fucking Lifetime movie. Jay swallowed hard and nodded, stuttering against his shaking jaw, "Y-yeah. Fuck." 

There was a smile in her voice as she moved to undo the cuffs on his wrists, pulling a key from underneath the bed; "I hoped a guy like you would love being dominated, even if you won't admit it." She kissed his cheek again once he was freed. "And don't worry. I'll let you do the fucking next time." 

Jay groaned against her, unmoving despite the cuffs lying useless on the floor. His side was throbbing, the bleeding having to come to a slow stop to leave trails of dried blood on his skin. Brink turned away to look at her phone, and Jay felt adrenaline rush through his sore muscles. 

He launched himself from the bed, wrapping an arm over her throat to hold her to his chest. She gasped against his grip and he knocked the phone from her hand, grabbing her wrist to keep her disarmed. Her tits moved in waves as she wriggled to free herself, but Jay forced himself to stare at the window looking over the city. 

She'd degraded him, obviously, but it didn't mean he wouldn't fight back. His wrists were bright red from the cuffs and it contrasted heavily against her pale skin. Her free hand grabbed at his elbow and he growled into her ear, "Who the fuck are you, and how did you find me?" 

She stilled in his grasp, the facade of her struggle lifting instantly. She tore her arm from between his fingers in a quick jerk and kicked her foot back, sweeping behind his ankle to pull his balance away. Still groggy from a cocktail of sedatives, sex, and digital tripping, Jay fell to the ground, unable to compensate when his foot left the ground. She stood stoic above him, unmoved by his attempt. As he regained his composure, she threw open the drawer of the bedside table and flashed a gun that pressed to his forehead. 

Jay felt his upper lip twitch against his nose, disgusted at his failure. She held her elbow bent, a sign of preparedness if he chose to move. The light cast shadows against lean muscles in her arms. 

"You wanna see how I paint walls, sweetheart?" she muttered emotionlessly. 

Defalt was fucked. He let his hands fall onto the short carpeting and pushed against the pistol's muzzle. 

"Just fuckin' do it," he sighed. A wave of desperation and helplessness filled him and he felt like a wave had pushed him out to sea. 

She pulled the gun away, a circular mark left on his flesh as she unloaded the gun and popped its chamber. Still nude, she walked to the bathroom with her ammo, leaving him to sulk against the bed like a beaten dog. 


	2. Need

There was a beauty in the way a human's eyes could express to you the deepest feelings within its mind. Happiness, sadness, anger, and, now, hysteria. 

Brink had a tendency to bite her lip when she got excited. She did so in a seductive way, trailing her fingers across the blazer of a man choking on the taste of his blood. His nose was broken against his cheek, one eye swollen by the body that wanted so badly to stay alive. They were on top of a parking garage, where she'd caught him working overtime and jumped him from behind. 

She laughed to herself and stepped behind him, grabbing his jaw to force him to watch the screen. It was a recording from the CCTV inside a far-off shopping center. On it, the deadlocked man she wanted and an older, bald man glancing around them in paranoia. 

"You know him?" she asked softly, running a fingertip against his neck. 

The man, an employee of Blume, cleared his throat and offered, "Raymond Kenney. It's - it's Raymond Kenney." 

She patted his cheek. "That's right. Now, where did he go?" 

He twisted his head with a pleading look in his eyes. "I-I don't know. He disappeared. CtOS has him flagged, but he hasn't shown up." 

She straightened a finger at the monitor, an unimpressed look making him drop his head. "He's right fucking there, Timmy-boy. He's right _fucking_ there." Her teeth were by his ear and he cringed away

He began babbling, "He's a genius! He probably just overrode his profiling or knew how to bypass its facial recognition! Please," he begged, tears lost into the blood surrounding his shattered nose, "I don't know anything. Why are you doing this to me?" 

Brink straightened, losing the smile in her voice, and grabbed the back of the wheeling chair he'd been tied to. The wheels tried to stall against the sediment of the parking garage's unkempt concrete, and she yanked harder, the sobbing man jerking and pleading. At the edge of the railing, four stories high with a sea of lights twinkling, she imagined spectators cheering for her, their faces featureless stars in the windows of high-rises. She took in the beauty of the downtown's dreamless nights as she cut the zip tie around the man's wrists. He lurched forward, uneven and dizzy, likely about to run for his car. Instead, Brink grabbed the back of his blazer and yanked him towards the railing. 

His back cracked painfully as he bent over the metal bar, his head hovering over a drop that made him begin to shake. Before he could retaliate, she fisted the front of his shirt and pushed, deaf to the pleas for mercy while she became distracted again by her unseen fans. 

There was a shout. And the sound of snapping plastic and tenderizing meat. A woman screamed. 

Brink made her jaw drop, pulling her eyebrows high, a practiced wail erupting, " _Oh my God, Tim! Call an ambulance, please, someone!"_

 

"You... Killed him," Jay repeated, "You fuckin' killed him?" 

Brink had figured her little deranged DJ wouldn't be a fan of senseless killing. From what she'd figured, he used his own ego to provide the ground floor for his nefarious actions. He didn't want to be blamed or feel a too-good rush when an innocent screamed. So, she'd prepared herself. The TV was running a story on the man, Tim something, crying coworkers regailing the reporter with how good a man he was and how they never thought he was like this. 

She loaded the man's profile on ctOS and held the phone inches from Jay's face. "Accused of child pornography and attempting to sexually assault a minor. Is that enough?" 

Jay's lip twitched and she threw the phone onto the bed. He was sunken into the couch, likely still too tired to move anywhere else. Brink began changing out of her blood-speckled clothing with the look of a disappointed schoolteacher. "But he was accused. Doesn't mean he was guilty." 

Brink rolled her eyes as she undid her bra, ignoring whether or not he chose to watch. "Ugh, he fucking worked for Blume. They just paid off the mom who filed charges. She found out her daughter was sending nudes to the guy and he tried to meet her but the mom was there, instead. She was fuckin' twelve. Get it? Blume paid her off and Tim the Pedo got to keep his life." She smiled faintly at her joke, "Well. _Got to."_

 

She covered herself with a towel and headed towards the bathroom. She threw Jay a side eye. "You might want a shower, too. I could only do so much while you were out." 

He bristled and made a face. "I can't... I couldn't stand up that long," he grumbled. The thought of her stripping him while he was unconscious was enough to make him feel humiliated yet again, but having to admit he was useless was a strike to the ego that made him gnaw at the insides of his cheeks. 

She tucked the corner of her towel against her chest and made her way over to him, offering a hand. "Come on, cutie."

When he didn't move, she grabbed his arm, the nerves still tender, and pulled him to his feet. Jay groaned as blood seemed to pool in the muscles of his feet and pain shot through his legs. She wrapped his arm across her shoulders and encouraged him to walk with her. He could walk fine, he just didn't want to. It hurt, but it wasn't debilitating. He wanted to sit on the fucking couch and watch TV until he could gain enough strength to leave the room and find his way back to his apartment. 

She let him sit on the floor against the counter while she ran a bath. He was tearing cuts into his cheeks with his teeth and snapping his fingernails against each other. She kneeled by the tub, the towel tucked beneath her ass, and let her arm hang into the building water. All he could hear was running water and the clicks of his fingernails. 

Finally, she stood and turned the faucet. It was uncomfortably quiet as she pulled him up again and began undoing his jeans. He slapped her hand away and she chuckled, letting him undress himself. When he pulled his shirt off, the bright red lines across his side caught his eye. They'd probably scar, the scabbed tissue barely enough to close the larger wound. She dropped her towel and waited as he gingerly pulled his jeans and boxers off, unable to decide whether or not it was worth it to try to cover himself. 

She offered her hand but he ignored it while his features twitched, his eyes set on the wall. He stepped into the water and the warmth of it traveled up his legs, a caressing hold he hadn't expected. He closed his eyes, lowered himself, and leaned against the back of the tub, closing his eyes as a soothing wash of heat relaxed his muscles. There was the sound of water moving and he felt Brink between his legs. She laid onto him, her head on his chest, barely beneath the water as she curled against him. 

He didn't know what this was. It was... Weird. But he tried to focus on the disappearing achiness and not the girl tracing circles on his chest. She spoke lowly, "I killed a demon for you." He didn't respond, and she continued. "I broke his nose with my elbow. He was crying. Have you ever heard cartiledge crunch?" 

A smile crept across his lips, and Jay giggled softly despite himself. 

"Have you ever wanted to just find all of the evil in the world and beat it blue and red?" She was dirty talking, in a way. He was feeling more himself with the revitalizing water, and he nodded. "I once found a guy selling crack to high school kids. I cut his lips off." 

Jay giggled again, high on the feeling of her against him and the images she painted on the back of his eyelids. 

"He tried to tell me it was 'just business' so I blinded him with bleach and cut his throat." 

His laugh echoed against the high-end porcelain. It felt like bugs were crawling through his veins, tickling him with sparks of deranged joy. 

Brink lifted from him and Jay watched her through half-lidded eyes while she turned to face him. She grabbed body wash from the side of the tub and poured it in her hand. He wasn't sure if he wanted to protest, but a little gasp at the cold touch of the soap followed by the soft massage of her fingertips made him close his eyes again. He touched his head to the tile and she pressed her hands against the soreness of his limbs and chest. 

Her lips brushed his ear and she whispered, "I want you to fuck me." 

He giggled, an uptight, strange sound of confidence he'd been missing since he'd woken up in the hotel. She laughed back, pouring water down his chest and pulling loose the knots of muscle in his shoulders. 

When she was satisfied, she stood and stepped onto the tiled floor, wrapping her towel around herself. She left the bathroom without a word and Jay was able to sink into the water, though it was losing heat with every passing minute. 

He was able to deal with himself, draining the water and drying off before the idea of bending his joints to put on his jeans and shirt made him cringe. He cracked his neck as he thought. This chick was right - she _did_ save him, and she _did_ seem to understand the difference between people who should and shouldn't die. She was sexy, too, even if he didn't want to admit it. She was toned and lean, able to drag his ass out of that building and apparently able to work over men on her own. Her tits were full and begged for attention beneath what he found to be a tattooed image of an upside-down crucifixion of a bloodied skeleton.

She wanted him to fuck her this time. So, Jay smiled at the thought - maybe he could make her bleed. Maybe he could strangle her and watch her face turn red while he made her beg.

Jay nodded to himself, leaving his clothes behind as he left the bathroom. Brink was naked on the bed, reading her phone and facing away from him, blood staining the sheets by her ass. She didn't seem to notice him, so Jay searched the floor for the knife she'd used on him. He grabbed it from the floor beneath the bed and fisted it, only half-attempting to hide it. 

He reached out and laid a hand on her hip, his thumb rubbing against the swell of her ass. She wriggled in some kind of agreement, but didn't look away from her feed. Jay felt a bit of playful rage and grabbed her hip, pulling her to lay flat on her back. She grinned and threw her phone down, watching Jay with judgmental fervor. 

He crawled onto the bed, hovering over her, watching her eyes dilate and her lips turn to a grimace. She grabbed his sides, one palm pressing an ache into his cuts, and sunk her nails into his back. Jay responded with a grunt and grabbed her throat, pushing her chin up with his knuckles. He slid his knees beneath her thighs, her legs wrapping around his hips as a moan vibrated through his fingers. 

_So fucked,_ he thought, before releasing her throat to grab at her wrists, dropping the knife beside her. She didn't struggle when he pushed her arms above her head, gripping her small arms in one hand while the other smoothed against her collar bone. 

He trailed down her tattoo and pinched a nipple between his fingers, a soft noise encouraging him to try harder. He grabbed the knife again, flipping it open as a glitter of excitement passed through her eyes. 

He pressed the point to the bottom of the tattoo, on the soft skin between her breasts. She watched him in silence, her lips parted. He pressed, the knife popping through a few layers of skin, and he dragged it downward to the middle of her stomach. She whined, closing her eyes as he cut, blood forming at the wound before it trickled lightly down the curve of her waist. 

He'd never done this before. It was strange how it made him hard, how the whimpers of pain made a grin form on his lips. He let his body override his mind and arched, pressing his tongue to the cut, wriggling against the split skin to encourage more blood to flow. She moaned and pressed against his mouth, her fingers twitching against the hand holding her down. He moved to the bottom of the incision and dragged his lower lip up, blood yielding against his skin, and she watched him with half-lidded eyes. 

She moaned like scared girls in pornos, giving him motivation every few moments with noises that made his cock twitch. When he reached her tattoo, he moved his mouth to her breast, biting hard on a nipple. She squealed and giggled, writhing her body against his. He pulled at the sensitive nerves before pressing down to flick his tongue against her skin. He moved back, a stain of blood where his mouth had been. He couldn't help but smile, teeth bared in some reckless carnality that urged him on. 

He left the knife to squeeze at her tender nipple again and dragged his tongue over her tattoo to her neck. A tendon was pulled taught and he took it between his teeth without warning. He felt the strong muscle flex and weaken in his old and Brink cried out, reflexively slamming her cheek into his scalp. He remained there for a moment, licking the twitching flesh of her neck while he gripped her wrists harder, a soft pop of readjusting bone in between his fingers. Finally, he dropped the tendon from his mouth and trailed up her jaw to her ear, where he growled, "What do you want?" 

She moaned as he twisted her nipple painfully, the raw skin making her cheeks blush. "Cut me, fuck me, hurt me - anything. Please," she whined, tightening her legs around his hips, his hardness grazing her cunt. He giggled in her ear and dropped her entirely, leaning back to marvel at the dominant girl who was red-faced and bloodied beneath him. 

Without hesitation, he lined himself up with her weeping pussy and thrust in hard. She threw her head back and used her no-freed hands to grip the sheets. "Once to get ready," he mused, the tightness of her like a vice, "and then the real fun." She looked confused before he pulled back, dropping from inside her, only to shove two fingers into her ass to spread the ring of muscle as he slowly pushed in. She gasped and bit her lip in pain, eyes twisted shut and he forced himself into her, her own lubricant hardly painless. 

He lifted her ass with his hands when her legs weakened, spreading the soft mounds of flesh to open her to him. He pressed in completely, her muscles contracting while she whined and groaned. She couldn't seem to open her eyes, especially when she hissed and bared her teeth as he began to thrust dryly into her. She tried to move a hand to her clit, but he stopped her with a hard, "Don't you fucking dare." 

He wanted to be the only one deciding what she felt. Her cries of pain and masochistic moans filled his veins like narcotics, urging him to thrust slowly into her until a warm wetness appeared. Jay pulled out, finding speckles of blood on his cock. He grinned and dropped her ass, moving his hands to spread her again while he pressed the pad of his finger against her red, swollen asshole. She whimpered and wiggled her hips against him, seeming to ask for more. 

He complied by shoving the same fingers he'd used to open her into her mouth. She lapped at them with the underside of her tongue, avoiding taste as she covered them in saliva. Satisfied, he pushed them back into her, the fatigued muscles opening to his touch. He grabbed his dick and slapped it against her clit, a wet, lewd sound filling his mind. She jerked at the sudden bursts of touch, the still-forming scab on her abdomen tearing open with fresh blood. Jay grinned as he teased her and dragged the underside of his cock against the wet lips of her cunt. 

He thrust into her, again with no warning, and she arched into him, crying out. He began thrusting as hard as hips would let him, sacrificing speed for hard beatings to her cervix. He wanted to bruise her insides and have her reminded of him every time she moved. His fingers still worked her ass, a tight fit between his hip and her leg, sticky blood between his fingertips. 

He fucked her until his cock twitched against her insides, cum coating her muscles as he pushed against her barrier, her cervix twitching at the endless pain and want. He fucked her until her asshole clenched and she threw her head against the mattress, crying out like a dying fox, a screech of anguish and lust as she came. He fucked her while she bled, adding to his own bloodstain on the sheets, a far off memory from the dominance he held now. His lip twitched in a furied ecstacy when her eyes teared and she moaned his name like a curse word, " _Jay, fuck, fuck, fuck,"_  and she clenched her muscles, arching her back as she screamed. He felt like an artist molding clay, sculpting her nerves with his fingertips as he decided what she felt, her asshole aching as her cunt twitched. 

Jay pulled away, her legs useless against the bedsheets, holding his cock as it twitched from his orgasm. Brink rolled onto her side and curled into a ball. 

In his mind, Defalt wondered if this was love. The feeling of ultimate decision, of tearing flesh and screaming pleas. He'd fucked a lot, obviously, but there was never a feeling like this. He could only think of drugs and caffeine and the need to escape reality when he thought of her. She was perfect, aside from the essentialy-hostel-situation. Somehow, he was happy she'd saved him. He'd gone from sweaty nights with random women who seemed to feel nothing to a woman who let him scar and hurt her. He wanted more. 

He wanted to bind her tits with bands that forced her nipples taut and make her wriggle with need. He wanted to feel his fist against her groin, fisting her cunt while she begged and screamed and tore against him. He wanted her bleeding and pleading for his cock, the only one she would take - the only one that could fill her entire being and make her insides quiver. 

He glanced back at her trembling body on the bed, a feeling of possession filling his body with comfort. She was his. He was hers. He wanted to hear her voice in his ear and need in her voice. She was... Perfect. 


	3. Blood and Bachelors

****

It was day three of his new life, he guessed. At least, a life that now included Brink. She was awake by dawn, throwing shit into her suitcase while she tossed guns from three different hiding spots into a tote. Jay stirred on the bed, tossing a hand out to signal her to be quieter. Instead, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him across the bed. "I saw your name on the front of that theater near here. You're supposed to show up tonight."

Jay winced and lifted an eyelid, staring at her in the brisk light of the morning. He remembered that as soon as he'd begun choking in that room, his computer fucked and the air scented with something citrus, he'd left his life as a DJ a cliffhanging wreck. 

He remembered the bass - how it edged through his nerve endings and filled his skull with power and rage. He'd watch people dry hump on the dance floor in front of him, fucking to his music, his art. He remembered the taste of Kool-aid and ecstacy mixed with vodka and grenadine. 

Despite her efforts to organize herself, Brink seemed a mess. She threw clothing onto the floor, checking graphic images and consistencies of the fabric before she'd toss it away. Jay rolled onto his back, stretching and wondering if his mask had made it. He sure as fuck wasn't playing in public if he had to wear a fucking bag over his head. 

There were a lot of questions he had. What the hell was with her "edgy" tattoo? How'd she get so much money to throw at an almost-dead body and pay for a hotel suite in downtown? She'd already attacked a Blume employee, so he wondered if she was some DeadSec narc that would laugh in his face when she found out how he hated them. There were lots of things. 

She stopped again to glare at him. "Are you gonna lay there all night or are you showing up?" He sniffed and hid his face with an arm, shrugging. It was only dawn. No one did shit at dawn. She huffed and Jay peaked over his forearm at her tattoo. 

"So, are you, like, a Satanist or something?" 

She rolled her eyes at the question like she'd heard it too many times before. 

"It's St. Peter, idiot. He tried to pretend he didn't know Jesus, then he licked his boots when it turned out he had magic powers and shit, and then had himself crucified upside down so he wasn't _comparing himself to Jesus._ It means that everyone will fuck you no matter how good or strong or not you are. They just wanna be on the winning side. So I got his bloody bones hangin' there because I gotta remember that. Trust no one and all that."

Jay smashed his eyebrows down with his arm, narrowing his eyes. "That sounds right..."

She leaned over the bed and pinched his cheek, making him thrash and push himself off the bed and onto the floor. "That's why I own you, baby. Trust isn't an issue if you're all mine." 

Jay lifted himself from the carpet to make a face at her. "Okay, but, _you don't fuckin' own me_ and that doesn't make sense. You want me to head back to my regular fuckin' life, and you expect this whole captive situation to just keep goin'?" 

She giggled, shoving the clothing on the floor back into her suitcase. "You're misunderstanding, Jay." She slid onto the bed, leaning towards him to smile. "A little psycho like you... You can't go anywhere without me. You'll get withdrawals. You'll accidentally be to rough with a stranger and you'll be scouring the town for me. Plus," she sat back up, grabbing her phone from the bedside table, "you need me."

Jay sighed heavily and cocked his chin to face the ceiling. " _Why_ though? I can just fucking leave and get back to all of my shit and it'll be like nothing ever happened."

"It's a little thing called 'psychology,' Jay. You used it against Kenney when you had him face all those people whose family members he killed. You use it in your music to find ways to make people feel and react the way you want." 

He grumbled in response, "I know what _psychology_ is, but you still aren't telling why the fuck _I_ would _ever_ 'belong' to you, or why the fuck I'd even want to be around you once I leave." He stood and stalked to the bathroom to find his clothing. 

When he came back, she was smiling despite his questioning, a look of pity and entertainment in her eyes. 

"Where's my mask? I can't do shit in public without it, or the whole thing I'm tryin' to do is fucked." 

She rose from the bed to casually reopen her suitcase. "That _whole thing._ Why weren't you at Dot ConneXion when I saw you in that club the first time?" 

He narrowed his eyes. "When? I've never seen you before this." 

"That one with the big single room and the trashy little stage and that horrible bar," she said as she rummaged through her clothing. 

"What, the SubLevel? How the fuck did you get in there?" She shrugged and he continued, "It's where I DJ on off-nights to test out shit. Dot ConneXion is fancy and shit, and they pay me a shit ton to play. Only invites get you into Sub." He stared at her hard, insisting she explain. 

She blew a raspberry and glared back. "I know people here, too, dickhead. The bouncer knew me." Through tight teeth she added, "He knew not to ask me a bunch of fucking questions." 

Jay laughed loudly, mocking her. "I think I deserve as many answers as you've got, bitch! You've been stalking me, right? You saw me at SubLevel and stayed on me until I was weak, then you dragged me here to your," he shook a hand at the room, "fuckin' sex dungeon! How the hell do I know you didn't help Kenney turn the gas on me?" His voice was getting louder, higher in a crazed accusatory way. "Are you from DeadSec? You tryin' to get me out of the way for those fuck nuts? Did Pearce send you?" 

She slammed the suitcase closed, groaning loudly and angrily. "God, _shut up,_ Jay. Fine. I'll answer your _questions_ and tell you a nice little story so you don't wet yourself." 

He ground his teeth, fists balling at his sides. She sat on the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside her expectantly. He stayed where he stood, crossing his arms. She rolled her eyes, but let him sulk. 

"Aiden Pearce, that 'vigilante' on the news - he had a buddy named Damien. You know, the one who wanted to sell all that info you stole?" 

"They stole it first," he hissed. 

"That mud fucker was my uncle. He taught me most of what I know, so I knew his systems. I watched him freak out and kidnap Pearce's sister and l watched him call his little boyfriend every day to try to get that data. Anyway, I used to have a lot of connections where I'm from, so I just made them hand over their own contacts here. They sent out a warning to some people that I was coming to Chicago and I wouldn't like any holdups in my vacation."

"Vacation?" Jay spat. 

"So, yeah, I can go wherever the fuck I want. Those fucks know I can afford as many fixers as I'd need to make it that way, so they avoid the trouble. _Happy, now, Jay-baby?_ " she mocked, returning to her suitcase to pull out the blue, pointed mask of Defalt.

"Why did you follow me?" he asked further, ignoring her teasing. 

She pressed a shoulder to her cheek as she held the mask out to him. "You're cute. I like your music. I liked what you did to Damien and Kenney and Pearce. It was... Funny." 

He snatched his mask from her fingers and sighed when he slid it onto his head. It lit up, shining blue in her eyes. He was finally himself. In the light blue hue of his vision, Brink seemed softer. She smiled and stepped towards him. He didn't know what to expect, but having her grab his arm to slip a zip tie across their wrists wasn't something he'd been prepared for. He tried to yank his arm away, but only pulled her closer, making her laugh. 

"What the _fuck,"_  he growled, dropping their arms to roll his head to the side

"You're still in obedience training," she chided, turning to drag him into the suite's main room. He'd only left the bedroom for food, having found every trace of the hotel's name removed from sight and absolutely nothing of hers outside of her suitcase. He cursed at himself for not going through her shit when he could have. She threw open the front door and he grimaced beneath his mask when her fingers wrapped against his hand beneath the zip tie as they walked to the elevator. 

"I don't usually just walk the streets, you know," he muttered while the elevator doors shut. 

"It's good to try new things," she offered carelessly, reading signs and staring at the interior while they descended. He sighed, but she was adament. They walked through a brightly-lit, cushy-wealthy lobby and Jay realized they were in the Merlaut, far north of where his apartment and the Ambrose were. 

"So, you expect to drive with this on?" Jay asked, raising his arm. 

"I can drive with one hand," she answered angrily, seemingly annoyed that he'd think she hadn't planned this out. He was going to ask how they were supposed to get into whatever car she had, but she stopped him by throwing open the passenger-side door of a 550S, likely a rental from the fresh paint and shining dashboard, and pulled him behind her as she wriggled over the center console. She settled into the leather seat while Jay leaned back to stare out the window. He let his arm limply follow hers as she started the car, then laid their arms between them. Her nails played against the skin of his fingers as she drove west, then south. 

Facing away, he asked, "Why are we going there now? It doesn't open for hours." 

"Oh, we're going to your apartment. I thought you might want to say hi to your stuff and maybe wear some clothes that aren't three days old," she replied brightly. 

"You're not going into my place," he warned. He watched a few women point at his mask as they drove by and he couldn't hide a grin. He'd missed feeling like a king, rather than a prisoner. 

She laughed sharply. "Fuck no. I don't wanna see some bachelor lair that probably smells like feet and death." He grimaced. His place was nice as fuck, but he wouldn't argue. "I'm gonna find a place for myself. I'm thinking, I'll stay awhile longer here than I planned." 

"Great," he muttered. They pulled into the parking lot for his apartment complex and he was bothered by her ability to find it without help. How long had she been following him? It took him no time at all to catch Pearce watching him, but this girl knew his address and both clubs he worked at. She crawled through the passenger side after him and motioned for him to lead on. "I thought you weren't coming," he grit. 

She gave him a hard look and commanded, "Go." 

Jay cracked his neck and pulled her along dramatically, stomping to the elevator in a tantrum. Once the doors closed, she cut the zip tie. "Didn't want you lying. You really are a good boy. I thought you'd try to jump out of the car, and I didn't want to pay for you to die again. Plus, you could've had a friend here that would've hidden you if you were on your own," she explained casually, kicking a shoe against the floor. 

When they reached his floor, she reached into her bag and pulled out _his_ keys, shoving them into his hand. She waved cutely as the doors closed behind him. He was finally alone. 

 

Jay opened his door to the cool breeze of an AC left on for days. He still hadn't put his shit back together entirely from when Raymond Kenney fisted his tech. His branded circuit board was still on the desk.

He could finally breathe. His skin didn't feel like his own, his muscles still ached erratically, and his side still twinge when he'd stretch the scabbed cuts. They didn't look like they'd close anytime soon, and would probably scar. 

Jay grabbed a soda and fell onto his couch, the point of his mask brushing comfortingly against his chest. He didn't know how long it might be before Brink came for him, so he wanted to pretend he was back to lazy mornings of dreaming up new songs and jerking off. 

He couldn't manage the latter. Something about trying to even look at porn made him feel a weird, abrasive feeling in his brain. He hoped she hadn't ruined sex for him. Bitch. 

 

He spent a few hours building a playlist for the night, sorting through songs he'd beta'd at SubLevel along with his heaviest beats. He wanted to feel the music in his core when he played that night. He wanted to lose the images of the past few days and feel... Whatever _normal_ meant.

It was past five in the evening when the light beside his desktop's camera lit, a bright red eye signaling he was being watched. He stared at it, watching in the corner of his eye as an upload began on his computer. An audio file appeared and he grudgingly played it. 

It was Brink, of course, though he hadn't expected her to be good enough to dig into the ctOS box on his building. Her voice was bright and hard to hear over loud dubstep in the background. She was laughing, then spoke, _Come out, little rat! We've got some friends visiting!_

His face twitched in confusion, but he shut his computer down and grabbed the USBs with his music and shoved them into his pocket on the way out the door. In the hallway, he could hear the same music playing somewhere in the building. His phone buzzed with a text: _follow the music. I can't wait ;)_

He felt like he was Pearce running through Dot ConneXion to find the fake Defalt. Her texts were weirdly like his own, and he wondered if she had seen how he wrote and tried to copy him. 

The music was below him. He stepped down the stairwell, wanting to avoid any tricks she could play on the elevator. It was louder as he entered the lower level, and the beating bass brought him to the apartment directly below his. The door was ajar, the music pouring out into the hallway. He toed it open, hands in his pockets, expecting a party of wannabes and script kiddies. 

Instead, Brink was shaking her ass to the music, playing with a knife while a man sat, tied to a chair, right in the center of the room. The apartment was empty aside from a single fold-out table with a laptop and the chair used to keep the man bound. Jay cocked his head, unwilling to take his mask off to make a 'what the fuck' face at her. 

Brink squealed when she saw him and presented the man like a gameshow whore. "This guy, his name is Derrick. I like to know their names." She bit her lip and wiggled her eyebrows at Jay. "He was gonna find you! I use fixers a lot, and I saw the contract out on you when it opened - my friends know to watch out for my boy." She twisted around the chair, languid movements stark against the rage and fear of the captive. His mouth was duct-taped and his body was held to the chair by jumper cables and rope. "They wanted you bad, baby. How'd you get fixers on your ass?" 

Jay's voice was perfectly distorted when he answered, "Fuck if I know." He had missed the sound of his tone bouncing between too-low and high - it was comfortable. 

"Well," she started, grabbing the corner of the duct tape to rip it away in a quick motion, "let's see if he knows." The man yelped when his lips were ripped, blood pooling between cuts in his skin while his face reddened from the adhesive. 

He was quick to be loud and aggressive, screaming, "You use fixers? Then you should fuckin' know we don't ask for info!" 

She nodded at him and shrugged at Jay, motioning for him to come closer. He edid without thinking and felt the handle of her kitchen knife press into his palm. 

"Go on, Jay. Show him you're not a little rodent."

He felt the weight of the knife in his hand. He would never.... Never had.... 

He'd only _tried_ to murder. He never did it. He just... Never got lucky enough. Kenney escaped and Pearce ran after a fake. Those were the only people Jay had ever really wanted to hurt this badly.

But the man in front of him - he would've shot Jay straight between the eyes and spent the money on booze and drugs, he bet. He would have left Jay's body to rot in the apartment until the neighbors complained, and then he'd be another anonymous murder on the CPD website no one looked at. The image in Jay's mind of this _mother fucker_ painting his precious prototype tech in blood just to fulfill a contract filled by some rando made his blood burn. 

Jay felt a smile creep across his lips, letting it pull at his muscles with a fervored lust he realized he'd pushed down for so long. He couldn't help but laugh, his throat tightening in a separate hatred and need for blood that it turned into a hateful giggle that twisted inside the voice-modulator, even more wicked than it left his throat. 

It took one thrust. 

One sweet puncture of flesh, that yielding feeling of threading held together by a lifetime of bonds and mitosis, now torn apart by a metal point that slid deep to the back of the man's throat. He gagged, choked, and writhed as Jay pulled the blade back, blood weeping against the man's throat and clothing he'd probably picked out that morning. Jay couldn't help but let loose a cry of enjoyment as he stabbed into the soft flesh of the convulsing meat again and again. 

What was left was a torn-open, mangled esophagus and the ended gasps of a man with no consciousness left. 

The knife dropped from Jay's hands and he realized he was shaking. He'd never killed before - not with his own hands. Now, a body was his own masterpiece of gore and stillness that crept along Jay's nerves like ants. 

Brink was smiling at him like a parent whose child had skinned their first buck. She curled an arm around his waist and kissed his jaw, just beneath the safety of his mask. She said something, but he didn't hear it. All he heard was dubstep and the sound of gurgling blood. 

 

No time seemed to pass before he found himself fucking Brink into the carpeting. She made tiny noises between loud moans and whines that made him move faster. His cock was throbbing inside of her as he pressed his fingertips deep into the flesh of her hips. 

He wrapped a hand around her throat as he gave her knees rugburn, pulling her head backward with his thrusts. 

Beneath the sound of dropping bass and heart-stopping pounding, he heard her cry out his name over and over. She was thanking him, begging him, and screaming for a God she didn't believe in as he beat against her insides. 

Jay moaned, a ragged breath sending her name from his lips as he came inside her. 

He was mortified, in a way, at how easily she'd pulled him down to the ground and let him enter her without a sound. The gore didn't cause his erection - it was how she complimented his form and wrapped herself around him that had compelled him to fuck. She was insanity in the body of a woman who couldn't get enough. He wouldn't tell her, but the way she smiled as he cut the man open, the way she screamed and squealed for him - it was his new favorite thing. 

Despite what she'd done, she was right. He wanted her beside him. He wanted to know she'd watch his back when he couldn't be bothered to and would let him choke the sound from her while he felt her twitch and tighten. 

And, no matter how she spun it, she was his. 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Do t ConneXion was always a little too warm. Jay would have made it a freezer, if he could, so peoples' breath would reflect the lights shining his symbol across the floor. He always started sweating from the ecstacy he'd be offered, first. Then, it was a slow swelter as he'd feel himself thrusting and moving into his own beats.

Brink was downstairs, chatting up a server with a giant QR-box head. Jay couldn't help but snicker at how the guy nodded and let her touch his arm, knowing the no-name underneath could never survive her. She hadn't set any kind of rules for whatever they were doing. They definitely weren't dating, and the way she twisted her hair in her hand made Jay wonder if she wanted him watching. 

One of the girls behind him, dancing in a group, had the gall to lean against the bannister in front of them while he prepped a track to start. Over the music, he could barely hear her, but he read her lips to say _Wanna fuck?_ while her hips moved and she tossed her hair over her shoulder. 

He flashed her a thumbs up, returning to setting his tracks, and she bit her lip and practically bounced away. He waited until a good thirty minutes was set to play before he stepped away from his soundboard, turning to find the girl over-zealously behind him. He played it cool like he used to, grabbing her by the waist to take her up the stairwell that led to the VIP room, where Defalt had an agreement to fuck his fans in privacy. 

When he shut the door behind him, she was already on her knees, undoing his jeans and rubbing her makeup-caked face against the material covering his cock. He grabbed her hair and she leaned back, complaining that she _didn't do that._ Jay didn't know why fucking hair-grabbing was 'a thing' she didn't do, but he ignored it and let her pull his dick out to give lippy-head that hardly made him feel horny. When he wasn't responding right, she stood and pulled him to the couch with wide cushions that let her splay beneath him. She wasn't wearing panties, so he hiked her skirt up to shove his fingers into her. He wasn't paying attention to his other hand when she squealed and pulled it from her thigh, where he'd pushed his nails into her skin.

He'd taken the stupid pills, he'd gotten the girl here, and yet he couldn't find that same excitement in her company. 

Jay rolled his eyes, hidden under his mask, and pushed his half-hard cock into her gracelessly. She began to moan and whine like a porn actress, her voice too high and her body too motionless for him to enjoy. 

The girls he'd brought here weren't always like this. But some were. Most just talked dirty or let him fuck their asses, but that was the most he'd ever gotten from them. All they wanted was to wriggle underneath Defalt and brag about it later. They wanted _Defalt_ fucking them with no more emotion than tourists. And, usually, it was fine - he'd get his dick wet and have a line of women who wanted in on the next party. He'd ride in strange cars while smoking weed and watching girls touch each other on top of him. _Defalt_ was someone who wanted to fuck, but _Jay_ wanted to fuck harder.

He couldn't stop thinking of Brink while he tried to thrust into the girl whose face he'd easily forget. He wanted to choke this girl and maybe even slap her, but he couldn't even leave a scratch. Instead of insisting he _fuck her_ , she made no effort, and he realized he was slowing. 

He made the decision instantly, pulling away and zipping his jeans up to a wide-eyed, confused expression on the girl's face. "What the fuck?" she asked, offense and no trace of sexuality left. 

"I'm good," he answered shortly, opening the door just as she was pulling her skirt back down and straightening her top. 

"W-what?" She was pouting. "I can do whatever you want! Don't -" 

He interrupted her and swept a hand towards the door, "Try the vodka. Maybe you'll actually move a muscle next time you lie down." 

She huffed and made a sound of irritation, stomping past him and down the stairwell, where he heard her complaining loudly over the music to her friends. 

Jay ran his tongue across his teeth, bothered by the girl. He hadn't thought he'd change that much since Brink found him. Even the drugs in his system didn't seem to phase him. He sighed and left the room, descending the stairs past the crying whore, down to the bottom level. Brink was there, still grinning at the server as he completely avoided his job. 

Her eyes found him immediately, a little flash of mischief glimmering through them before she looked back at the server. Jay stopped them silent when he pressed his side to Brink's, an arm wrapping around her waist. He lowered his mask at the server and, in his distorted tone, asked, "Shouldn't you be working?" 

The QR block nodded quickly, wordlessly returning to the floor of chatting and dancing patrons. Brink rubbed a hand against Jay's collar bones, purring, "Ooh, _authority,"_  before her slapping his chest and turning away, out of his grasp.

He grabbed her arm before she got too far, pulling her back in what others must have seen as an abusive way with the sudden turning of heads around them. She tripped into him, obviously already tipsy, if not drunk. She giggled, moving her hair against the point of his mask. "We leavin' already?" she asked while wriggling her ass against him. 

Jay was already thinking of what he wanted to do to her. She was tempting him to take her to the VIP room, but the soft-lighting and smokey stench wasn't the venue he wanted. He checked the time - only five minutes was left on his playlist. 

He lifted the edge of his mask to growl into her ear, " _I'm gonna bruise you later._ " She giggled again as he left to finish out his set. He watched her from the balcony as she traced the asses of girls who pressed against her, and tilted her chin to talk to men who couldn't see the viper in her heart. She was doing it to tease him, Jay knew. She was winking at girls and touching their hair. She was stretching to excentuate the curves of her waist and tits. 

He watched her like a movie, the last hour of his playtime lasting too long while he thought of new ways to fuck with her. 

 

 

He slammed her against the wall of his apartment too hard, but she couldn't complain over the soft noises she made as he groped her waist and ass. Jay tore his mask away, dropping it near the door to kiss her hard enough that her head smacked the wall. Despite his aggression, she moved almost romantically, pulling a thigh up onto his hip and wrapping her arms lazily around his neck. 

He pulled her forward by the waist of her jeans, demanding she take them off with a wrenching of his fist. She giggled drunkenly and pulled her shirt off, exposing her braless upper half while she kicked him back to undo her jeans. 

He didn't wait, and yanked the material to her knees to shove his hand into her panties. His fingers were rough in invading her, and he twisted and curled his fingers to make her cry out. He pulled a breast to his lips and bit at her nipple furiously, sucking intensely at the skin to leave dark red marks. 

She whined a noise of complaint, wanting more, despite his knuckles bruising her pelvis. Jay cracked his neck, planning to grab her, but felt an adhesive pull on the back of his neck. His hand shot to the sting, finding a patch of light rubber stuck to his skin. He started to curse, but Brink was giggling and he glared at her. She winked and murmured, "X patch." 

He'd heard about Chicago's newest adopted drug from out East. It was essentially a nicotine patch, but MDMA and a number of potential additions laced the sticker. He knew it couldn't just be ecstasy. He'd taken the narcotic enough times to gain a tolerance. He felt dizzy, suddenly, as though he'd taken shots and a bong rip. 

Jay pushed past it and grabbed Brink by the waist, tossing her onto the two mattresses and a blanket he called a bed. She easily took him with her, his balance disappearing as quickly as his conscious thoughts. All that went through his mind was _her._

He wanted to break her and push her past the point of pain - he wanted to pull her to his side while he improvised a show - he wanted to make her pay for humiliating him - he wanted to be humiliated. 

Jay shook his head hard, realizing she'd pushed him into his back and straddled him with a wicked grin. She seemed excited when he finally looked at her and spoke almost too quickly for him to follow, " _How is it? It's called Oz and apparently it's X with, like, crazy mixers that make this happen."_ She poignantly ground against his hips, a pitiful sound leaving Jay's lips before he could finish understanding her sentence. Her voice sounded distant. " _Be a good boy, baby._ " 

His lip twitched as he tried to make a face at her. 

Brink swallowed his throat and jaw with her hands and ground fire against his cock. Jay lolled his head with glazed eyes but she held him in place and kissed along his cheek and temple, seeming to reassure and provoke him. 

Her demands were soft. " _Get your jeans off and let me play with you._ " 

He fumbled at the button of his jeans while he hovered her ass just high enough for his hands to shove between them. She giggled at his loss of motor skills and helped him free his now-throbbing erection. It felt like he put out a fire when the cool air hit him, only to be reignited when she dropped the heat of her groin back down. She fit his snugly between his abdomen and her pussy, grinding slowly and watching his face. 

He twitched again, hissing and dropping his jaw at the feeling of his nerves exploding. Her fingers were quick threaded into his hair to yank his head back. She spoke slowly, " _Moan for me."_

Jay was never the noisy one. He'd learned to use grunts and his breathing to keep girls interested without giving off the weakness of moaning. But his body was obedient. A short, ragged moan left him and she smirked. " _Louder."_

She dragged the wet heat of herself from the base to the head of his cock, tearing a long moan from his throat. He pulled his hair in her grasp and earned a harder tug, forcing his head to point directly at her. She dragged her other hand up her body to play with her breast while she jumped him. Another tug caused Jay to buck and groan languidly. 

He felt so utterly lost inside the sensation of her cunt. He was gnashing his lower lip, savoring the tingling numbness of his tongue while he pushed precum from him. He felt like a fucking slut with her commanding him, forcing noises he'd refused to utter so loudly, now bouncing off the walls with a strange vulnerability. 

Brink cocked her head thoughtfully and kissed him hard, pressing her forehead to his as his lips proved useless. Her eyes were dark, cast almost entirely in shadows, and she slipped her hips forward to pus the head of his cock into her unforgiving heat. Like she'd told him, Jay whined and tried to buck again, but was caught motionless in her careful hold. She smiled. " _You want to cum, baby?_ " 

He hadn't even thought that far ahead, yet. All he wanted was _her._ He just wanted to feel her tighten and move, riding him until he couldn't move again. In response to her low voice, he choked out a groan and wriggled weakly in her hands. 

She demanded, " _Tell me what you want, Jay._ " 

His voice was alien, so far away and broken he couldn't recognize himself. "I wanna cum, please. _Please."_

She seemed satisfied and rocked backwards, engulfing his entirety as she gave a practiced moan and watched his face twist with pleasure. She pressed her fingers across his throat as she sat up, thrust her hips to pull him in and out, holding his face to meet his eyes. He could hardly see straight, but her visage was perfect as she rode him slowly. Perfect sounds just for him filled his head and he moaned again, despite himself, weak beneath her touch. 

Brink smiled and asked again, " _What does my good boy want?"_

Jay shut his eyes long enough to feel dizzy and murmured, "Please, Brink. _Fuck. Please_." 

She patted his cheek and shifted her weight to her knees. In her new position, she bounced on his cock perfectly while the sensation of her tight muscles throttling him made Jay whimper. 

It didn't take long for her to pull him into another deep kiss, a nearing orgasm evident in his expression, and he came with a moan that made his shame rise to an unprecedented level. 

It was only then that he began to realize how her humiliation made him crazy. In his subdued state, he saw how perfect she was as she demanded and forced her way, insisting he get hard and cum when _she_ wanted. _She_ fucked him up, rode him soft, and kissed a trail of heat across his face. _She_ decided to save him and make him hers. _She_ wanted _him,_ and it was all he could take forcing himself not to fuck her any moment he could.  

She was still kissing his jaw, a tiredness crawling across Jay's skin as she pressed her lips softer and softer against him. He pulled a hand up to graze his fingertips across her cheek before he fell asleep, lost in the crashing waves of a perfect high and hard orgasm. 

 

 

When he came to, she was gone and the sticker on his neck had wedged beneath his pillow. For a moment, he wondered if she'd ever been real and if he'd woken up on a morning before his big death scene. Maybe it was fake. Maybe it was a warning. 

He wanted it to be true - waking on the morning of his plan to kill Kenney with just enough forethought to plan his escape - but he wanted more to roll onto his side and see Brink sleeping beside him with her uncovered body lulled into sleep. 

Jay questioned himself as he lied there, wondering if he wanted more to have a second chance or a psychotic woman in his bed. She was crazy, and technically a killer, but he loved it. She swayed and rocked herself with his music like he'd made it just to watch her move, and her eyes always glistened with a mischief that rivaled his own. A partner had always been someone beneath him - someone so obsessive or fucked, they wanted him and nothing else. But Brink had everything she could want, and seemed to take him on even ground when she coerced him into writhing for her. 

Jay's fingers brushed the healing cuts on his side and he knew she was real. He was a fuck up, a failure, and she revived him to give him a renewed purpose. He wanted to kill DeadSec. He wanted to find Pearce and send a video of his death to that fucking sister. He wanted to make Raymond Kenney watch as Defalt, the true God of death, designated the most painful death he could imagine. 

His phone vibrated and he found it beside the bed to see a text from Brink. _Be back soon. xoxo don't be mad_

He rubbed the sore muscles of his neck, overextended from Brink's tugging, and left his bed to slump into the chair in front of his computer. He had to fix it. The circuit board was still out, the side paneling was on the floor beside tiny screws, and his mouse was oddly flung sideways off the table. He'd been using his laptop for music, but his real prize was the modded-out desktop he had used to hack Kenny's little trio and had set to trigger automatic Fixer contracts if anyone fucked it up. 

He spent a few moments unplugging the tower and heaved it onto his desk, sighing. He didn't really care where Brink was, just that she came back. So, now, was time for his true love - his tech. 

 

Jay spent several hours checking the tower out, adding screws that had been lost to Kenny's hands and cleaning the hard drive of anything having to do with the old bastard. If he got another chance at the man, Brink would be there. He didn't want the eness reminders anymore. 

He didn't want to think about the day he stopped knowing his brother. He didn't want the endless silence and loneliness. He didn't want to live a life that didn't mean shit when the person he'd lived it with had gone. All because of _one man._ One man he couldn't even kill.

Jay felt a heaviness in his chest as he stared at the empty desktop of his rebuilt computer. He couldn't stop now. He kept seeing his brother's face and the disgusting way that mannequin had fallen into its noose before Raymond Kenney's eyes. Images of sharing his first spliff, playing his first mix, and fist fighting with his brother over video games flashed through his mind and Jay realized he didn't want to hear the silence anymore. 

It was deafening, the emptiness of his apartment. Before, he played music to drown it out or had people over who would smoke up and talk for hours. It was just him, now, not even Defalt as his mask still sat against the wall by the door. He wondered what his brother would have thought - would have done. 

The sound of keys at the door revived him and he spun around to watch Brink peek through the door with a smile. Her voice was a chorus against the silence; "I brought food!"

 

She was absolutely ecstatic. She'd brought some shit from a fast food place and Jay had realized how many days it had been since he could just gorge himself and do nothing. Now, she was rambling about something that had set off her excitement. He didn't care, but here was nothing else to distract him. 

"I was thinking, like, oh shit, maybe Jay knows this guy! Then, they said he was somewhere near Springfield. I guess he hasn't made it very far." 

"Who?" 

"That vigilante fucker - you know, uh," she snapped her fingers, trying to remember, " _Pearce."_  

Jay narrowed his eyes at her. "What, Aiden Pearce is in Springfield?" He laughed softly. "Fuck that guy. He's an old bitch." 

She rolled her eyes and launched herself forward from where she sat, now on all fours with her face close to Jay's. "Dumbass, thing of the rep you'd get for taking out _the Fox."_  

Jay sneered; "It's not a fuckin' video game. You don't just earn shit for killing assholes." He twitched his head sideways, away from her. "No one even _wants_ you to kill assholes. They just wanna be happy and safe and suck each other off without anyone watching." 

She huffed at him. " _Jesus,_ everything is such a bummer out here. Your weather sucks, your buildings are ugly, and your DJ's fuckin' suck." She ended with a grin, catching his quick glance with a giggle. "Come on - stop being such a mope. You're always so fuckin' sad." 

He shot an angry look at her and glared at the floor. "Maybe I'm fuckin' sad." 

She seemed high. Brink latched an arm around his neck and swung her upper half into his lap with a grin. "Nothin' to be sad about when you're breathin'." 

Jay refused to look at her. "Fuck off, Brink. I don't even know if I wanna be alive." 

She snorted rudely and snuggled against his abdomen. "We all have no purpose, baby. Life is a fuckin' illusion - it's just your brain receiving and transmitting data. You're a computer and your face is your monitor. One fucked up circuit, and you're in the trash. But if someone insists you're still viable tech, you can thrive. You can become more than you were ever meant to be." He risked catching her gaze and found himself caught in the sad gleam of her eyes. "Being happy means killing or strangling whatever and whoever tries to stop you. I don't care what you think - I dragged your ass back for a reason, and I don't know what that reason is. But I did it. And now, I get to look at that sweet little face when I fuck you."

He was caught off guard by the comment and smirked. "You're a psycho and you wanted me to be your slave." 

She touched his cheek lightly, thoughtfully answering, "Aren't we all slaves, baby?" 

Jay moved from her touch and jerked away from her weight to stand. He ran a hand through his hair and grunted, "You don't know shit." 

She lost the cute facade and her tone hit a depth that made Jay remember his first cuts in his abdomen. "Sit the fuck down. _You_ don't know shit. You, what, lost a brother to suicide? It's sad and horrible and heart-breaking, yeah," Jay's head twisted towards her in warning, "but you didn't suffer until later, did you?" 

"The fuck do you mean?" 

She smiled again, somehow knowing she'd won before she spoke. "You probably sat in your room and got a call from someone telling you what happened. You didn't feel it. You didn't know the burden he felt living every day." 

He took a step towards her and growled, "Shut th _e fuck_ up, bitch." 

"You were just a bystander, Jay. You can be as traumatized as you want, but you'll never understand it. You'll never know how sweet death feels when you're begging for it - you only know the bitter aftertaste." 

He reacted. His hand stung. She looked pissed, but satisfied. 

He'd slapped her. 

"Have you ever thought that maybe Raymond Kenney wasn't to blame?" She kept talking, despite Jay's clenched fists and already-violent outburst. "Maybe it's Blume trying to keep people like pigs in their pen until they give into the waste and filth or old age. Maybe your brother wasn't murdered - he was a lost soul sacrificed by the gods to prove their overwhelming power." 

He was tired of the figurative bullshit. The thoughts of Kenney and his brother and the red Defalt mask glowing against that mannequin's body - they tore at his mind like fingers on loose sediment.

He fell. 

He couldn't focus. His eyes were shut and he felt carpeting touch his forehead, his knees pressed into the floor. His fingers ripped at the hair of his scalp and Jay felt the world seizing his heart. His breath came too quickly and he felt like the Earth spun beneath him. He was gnashing his teeth against the air forced from his chest and all he could smell was dirt. 

Soft hands interrupted his breaking and pulled his head upward enough for lips to kiss the fingers tangled in his hair. 

Brink rubbed her cheek against his head, silent as his breathing evened. He'd never panicked so badly before. It had happened when his brother died and Jay had to spend a night entirely alone in the dark while his phone laid silent on the floor. He'd cried then, and he realized it was something like that now. It wasn't regular, sad crying - something just forced his eyes to water as his face went blank. He couldn't move anymore. He just wanted to leave. 

He wanted darkness and silence. He wanted to be far from this skin that kept him there. He wanted to be gone, unable to cause or feel more strife or death or loss or pain. 

Her voice hit his ears like clouds passing; " _You're safe, Jay. You aren't broken. You're alive, you're safe, and you're loved. Okay?"_

He couldn't respond. All he felt were her hands, her lips, and the gravity pulling him towards the floor. Jay wanted so badly to die in that room. At least, if Kenney had killed him, he wouldn't have to go on every day knowing he'd been left alone by the only other people who could understand his anger. Eleven people, and no one made a real attempt to argue Kenny's judgment. In that moment, when screens went blank and he watched Kenney argue his side, he felt the fake connection he'd built loosen, then snap. 

In that moment, flipping the table and finding his exit blocked, Jay felt lonelier than he ever had. The only person who knew him was long gone, and his attempts to avenge him soured. He was just a murderous rat caught beneath a back-breaking trap that shucked the last bit of air from his lungs. 

Jay fell forward, his forehead pressing into Brink's chest as he felt the last traced of will leave his muscles. 

He didn't want to breathe. 

He didn't want to think. 

He didn't want to be. 

She held him against her as he collapsed, a desperation in his movements as he let himself fall apart. 

"Jay," she whispered, "I know you're more than the chemicals in your brain. I know how it hurts. Just breathe." 

He didn't try to listen to her. Instead, he pressed harder into the memories he'd tried to forget - sharing a beer with his brother, laughing over stupid videos, talking about women and how they'd never marry. He entrenched himself, digging deeper into the despair as if it would make him finally disappear. 

Brink seemed to know. She sat down and spread her legs along his sides, awkward and curved in the way he'd fallen, and set his head onto her thigh. She petted his hair wordlessly and he let her jeans soak beneath his eyes. 

It was silent again, but he wasn't lonely. 


	5. Chapter 5

Jay hadn't said anything for a long hour and Brink was stuck watching TV at an uncomfortably low volume. 

It was too much for him to process at once. He had spent so much time and energy and _lost his fucking life_ to killing Raymond Kenney. But Brink said it wasn't him that should be blamed, but Blume. Of course he hated Blume - he used to be able to go outside without his mask and just blend in, but now he knew someone somewhere could see him all the time, tracking every coffee and piss. It wouldn't have been so hard if he'd seen it before. 

Kenney didn't make his brother suicidal, and he didn't intentionally let people die. It was manslaughter, at best. All he could hear in his head was his own modulated voice shouting _Murderer._

But Jay died from his mistake. 

The fact that Brink existed didn't matter beyond that point. Whether she was there or not and the fact that he was breathing in that moment on the floor - he died. 

And it was all due to the fact that Jay wanted his old life back, even before Brink renewed it. He wanted his brother out of fucking suicide watch, he wanted Blume to burn and their cameras shoved down their throats, and he wanted for shows at nightclubs to be the most interesting part of his life. 

She seemed to get bored with his silence and nudged a toe against his shoulder. "'Ey. Y'alright?" 

He scratched his neck thoughtfully. His voice was almost inaudible; "What are we supposed to do now?" 

She slid off the bed and sat beside him hard. "I think we gotta find out who sent a Fixer on your ass. Then, we just go and fuck up everyone you hate!" 

He liked the idea, obviously, but her intentions were lacking. "Why? Don't you have a life?" 

She smoothed a hand across his back and slapped his cheek gently - playfully, for once. "You're my life, now. Wanna hear a story?" 

"Not really-" 

She ignored him and spread her arms across the mattress behind them. "I was nineteen when I moved to Denver. I wanted to track down my uncle for being such a fuck. But he called me every day to track my signal and make sure I wasn't nearby. One day, I had this genius fuckin' idea to call him back and trace _him._ He was pissed that I'd called and told me I was fucking up a job. But I got his location.

"I went to go catch a bus to DIA - the airport - and you know what fuckin' happened? These men come out of fucking nowhere and put a bag over my head and drag me into this shitty little car. _I_ think I'm going to become some gross clickbait story, but then they hold up a phone to my ear while they start driving away. It was my _fucking uncle_ on the phone. He was screamin' at me, like, 'I know what you're fucking doing, bitch,' and, 'you ever try to find me again, I'll make this shit end with you in a ditch.'"

Jay was finally looking at her. 

"I couldn't use busses with routes that led out of Denver. I couldn't even go to the metro area, like fifteen minutes away, or he'd call me. He was _alway_ s watching me. And I was stuck in fucking downtown Denver, going to the same fucking King Soopers and Walgreens and dealers for six years."

He made a face of disgust, twitching a lip and sniffing as though he wasn't listening. 

"I hated it so fucking much. Then Blume launches ctOS in Chicago and I can see it - they'd spread their little claws all over the country and I'd be doubly-fucked. I was hiding out from bad shit in my hometown, and, if facial recognition could send my location back there..." She trailed off and seemed to realize she was ranting. "But then he stopped calling. He had been in the middle of some bullshit with Aiden Pearce and he was telling me all about the money he'd make. I think he was trying to make me go crazy from cabin fever. And he just went dark." 

Jay's eyebrows furrowed and he straightened up. "Pearce? Who the fuck was your uncle?" 

She flicked her tongue against her front teeth and ground out the name, " _Damien Brenks."_  

He knew that name. He hadn't _known_ the guy, but he recognized it. He thought back to Pearce killing his double with a car to the spine and cringed. "Who-" 

"But that's why I'm here. I shouldn't exist, either." She pressed against his side as she wiggled her ass closer. "See, Damien was always a narcissist, and he wanted my family gone because they always reminded him of what a big fuck up he was. He was my dad's brother, and Damien tried to convince my dad that I was sending lewd photos and shit to him. Obviously, my dad knew better, and my parents tried to press charges when I told them all the creepy shit Damien did when I was growing up. It all went fucked when Damien found out they were going to try to take him into court because he had multiple warrants out in Chicago. Even though we were out east, it just took a Nudle search to know who he was. 

"So, he had them killed. Fixers all the way from NYC drove out to find us. But he told them not to hurt me. I tried to stop one of them in my hallway when they'd gotten my mom on the ground." She lifted her hair just above one ear, revealing a long, thick scar on her scalp where her hair couldn't grow. "Shot me right in the head, but it only grazed me. I thought I had died and I really wish I had. I can't stand remembering how they looked. Mom was making dinner." 

Brink shifted uncomfortably and tore herself away to begin pacing. She ran her fingers into her hair. 

She paused to stare at Jay hard. "We're not supposed to be here. That's why I want you here." 

He dropped his head. He wasn't sure what to feel. He couldn't feel pity for the girl that had drugged him up and made him dependent on her. But she seemed to make more sense. She'd used the same psychological techniques Damien had used on her - because they _worked._

"I liked you." Brink was unmoving while she spoke and Jay stared at her hands by her sides. "You had this way of moving and talking that I loved. Then, I realized you were pulling the same shit as me, hacking for money and using your connections to get you places. Then you had this _revenge_ thing. I saw your feed when you were watching Kenney in your little maze. I thought it was genius and gorgeous. That's the kind of shit I wanted Damien to suffer through."

She moved forward and he was caught off guard when she fell to her knees and lifted his head with her hands at his jaw. He asked, "Why did you do all this shit, then?" 

Her voice was oddly even. "Because it's what you wanted." She blinked and seemed to revert to her creepy monotone that always signaled roughness to come. "You were bored. You wanted to be more. And no one let you. You like hurting and being hurt. You don't like to be alone. You wanted all of this." 

Jay thrashed back against her and swept her arms away. "Fuck you - you don't fucking _know_ me, Brink."

She smiled. "Just because you're mad I know more than you like doesn't mean I'm wrong. Just give it some time. You'll be fine." 

_Fine_ wasn't a word people associated with legitimately good shit. Fine was passing for average. He couldn't fathom having her jump between sociopathic coldness and scathing joy and her keeping him tracked like a dog bringing anything beyond _fine -_  it meant he'd be breathing and conscious. 

She slapped his shoulder, that conclusive gesture that signaled a mood swing. "Now, I'm going out to do some research kinda shit. Do what you want." 

She was essentially freeing him. She'd kept him close like a leashed dog, and she was satisfied that he understood the limits of his shock collar. He still felt tumultuous. 

As she threw a backpack over her shoulder and and shut the front door, he wondered if she'd been trying to get empathy from him or just told a story. Everyone knew about Stockholm Syndrome and how easy it was to want to be in good favor and eventually convince yourself it was better than anything else. When the world was closed off, suddenly anyone around seemed arrogant and careless. Maybe her story was a warning, explaining to him the repercussions of trying to leave. Or maybe she was just fucked and couldn't figure out how to rejoin society. 

He waited until he was sure she'd left and slid his mask on before making his way down to the complex's lobby. He scrolled through endless contacts in his phone, searching for anyone to reconnect with. There were numerous texts he'd sent the night before he'd gone after Kenney, but most were just heads up for clubs and girls who'd bought his number off a bouncer. 

He hit up Trey, a runner for his digital trips that had shared a joint with him a week before. It was weird trying to be normal. _Hey can I hyu_

He expected a response of surprise and worry from anyone he knew. He expected people to be happy he was there. But no one even knew he was gone. 

He felt a sinking feeling as he imagined a world in which he missed a few texts while he rotted in a locked room. Jay pushed it back and focused on Trey's response. _Hey man ya I got you._

His car was still in the garage, untouched and somehow more permanent than he was. He felt off driving, as though the few days he was gone had been long months. He had to focus hard to drive, but kept finding himself zoning out to thoughts of what Brink had said. 

She legally, essentially raped him. He wouldn't phrase it that way or ever complain because he'd ended up not entirely regretting it, but the fact was that she did. But he didn't stop her. But he couldn't. But he could have tried to leave afterwards or kept himself from fucking her again or hired Fixers or called the cops or just walked to the fucking reception desk at the hotel and tell them he was being held fucking prisoner. But he didn't. 

He just let her drag him around. He bitched and snapped at her, but she seemed happier having him there regardless. Girlfriends had always been a bit _clingy_ or whatever she was - they'd insist on shit their way and argue with him over his work or compare themselves to the women who danced around him. 

But Brink was past any of that. She knew he was hers and took any opportunity to remind him of that when she'd flirt in front of him and all he could think of was how she only fucked him. 

It had only been four days. They hadn't done anything close to _hanging out_ or whatever else would bring two people together. But what did he want? 

He didn't want some vanilla whore that just wanted his money or connections or just liked having a dick on the human next to her. He didn't want another DJ or some trick off a crew's back. Brink was what he wanted - sexy but smart, connected and social, scary and protective. She was Stockholm Syndrome incarnate - overly-intimate, strong enough to shut him up, and aggressive enough to make him come back. 

Jay sighed as he parked and slammed the door shut in an anger he couldn't direct. She made a point to never text when she was gone unless it was without notice. Yet, he still felt leashed. 

Trey's place was a large apartment shared with three other people. It smelled like weed, but the building seemed to have it drenched into the wallpaper, but the scent of cat litter and Clorox made him hesitant. 

There was a woman smoking a cigarette lain across the couch in a work uniform and Trey pushed past her to grab his weed where it was hidden in an old running shoe. 

He'd rather have been back home. He would've invited him instead, but the idea of Brink eyeing another human in her new lair made him imagine having to dump a corpse. It had to be here. 

Trey smirked at him on his way into his room, stuck at the far end of the hall but a good distance from the potential eavesdropper. Jay wasn't ashamed - he was just picky. Trey himself was a lean, good-looking guy and never had the look of a dealer. It was likely why so many people trusted him for their first digital trip. 

Trey tossed the Ziploc of weed onto the bed and watched Jay close the door and set his mask nearby. Trey teased him, "What, you didn't wanna wait so long?" 

Jay grinned back at him and fisted the collar of the man's shirt, pulling Trey against himself hard. He was cute, easily, and he was a useful runner and dealer, but Jay wanted to feel the power Trey had always given him. He wanted to compare. He wanted to feel a little bit normal again. 

Jay kissed him with a fervor that seemed to surprise him, but he grunted softly and let Jay push him away, towards the bed. Trey knocked the weed onto the floor and fell back with a wink. Jay approached him, warning, "I'm doing some new shit. Just be cool." 

Trey opened his mouth to retort, but Jay was on top of him quickly. The DJ leaned into him, dragging his hardness against Trey's, growling in his ear. "Oh, shit, babe," he muttered in response, moaning softly against Jay's lips. He didn't like the pet name from someone else, but he ignored it and dragged himself along the swelling flesh. He wanted to fuck. 

Trey didn't stop him. The runner had been a fan of Defalt's and ended up getting close to Jay on a couch while they were drunk. He had a curly fade and gorgeous eyes and had been so inviting that Jay had to make it happen. It had been a labelless and meaningless set of encounters like any other. But that's why Jay had chosen to text him. He was still a fan, and he wouldn't put up an argument over anything Jay wanted. 

He stripped the other man naked and pushed against him the same way Brink had touched him - a deep kiss and rubbing thigh beneath the man's cock while his fingers flexed against his throat. 

Trey laughed dryly. "Oh, you're into _that_ now? Hell yeah." 

Jay grinned and straddled him, wrapping his hand around the other man's throat. He bit his lip and bucked against Jay's other hand as his face reddened. Jay could hardly contain himself as he watched precum leak against his thumb and whispered, " _Fuck_ , Trey."

Trey whimpered and cleared his throat, trying to avoid the whining sounds he provoked. Jay dug his nails into Trey's hips and dragged them up his sides, causing a chill to run through him. Jay leaned forward sharply and bit at his chest, just beneath the grip of his fingers. 

Trey choked and shifted, twisting against Jay's touch. He'd never spent so much time fucking with him - usually Jay would get drunk and ride him hard and sloppy before falling asleep. Now, though, he was sober and aggressive, seeming to want more than a quick fuck. 

Jay settled over him and touched his nose to Trey's cheek, growling through clenched teeth. " _Want me to fuck your ass?_ " 

Trey was thrown off by the dirty talk but nodded, giving into the blurry high of Jay choking him. " _Y-yeah, fuck yeah."_

Jay moved back, running his nails down Trey's chest. He arched and Jay's hold left his throat. Trey gasped as clarity returned and he watched Jay spread lube across his swollen red cock. He looked harder than he'd ever been before anything had even happened and it made Trey's hips jerk beneath Jay's legs. 

The DJ moved back, pushing Trey's legs against his abdomen, and pressed his hardness against him. 

Jay wasn't _loyal_ in any way, and it seemed evident in how quickly his ass took in Jay's cock. He moaned against the tight heat and watched Trey's expression sweep through pain and lust. He returned his hand to choke Trey red while he began thrusting. The younger man threw his head back and _begged_ for Jay to fuck him harder. He had missed the power of finding someone and satisfying himself without having to see them in his bed. 

He used his other hand to grab weakly at Trey's cock, swollen and leaking against his stomach. He moaned the way Brink had made Jay sound, whining and low. Jay imagined her riding the other man's mouth, moaning against his lips while he fucked him. She'd play with herself and encourage him to make the guy _hurt_ and scream for him. 

He was almost displeased by how soon he found himself cumming, forcing himself deep into Trey as he bucked and grunted, " _Fuck."_

Jay dryly jacked him off while he sat inside him, the lube seeming to adhere him to Trey's insides. He came across his own stomach with a pitiful moan and Jay grinned over him. 

They separated unceremoniously and went about cleaning themselves off. A text set Jay's phone off and he grimaced at Brink's name. 

_Oh, I liked that. Let's do it again but with more spanking._

Jay spun around, searching for cameras in the room. The ceilings were clear and no laptops or computers even sat in the room. Trey watched him search while he filled a bowl. He texted back angrily, _what do you mean._

She sent back a wink. 

She never responded again, despite his questions. She might have mean to send it to someone else. Maybe she was just fucking with him and hadn't expected to be right. He shook his head and tried to focus on the bong being passed to him. He didn't need to stress. He got laid and he was happy - no scars, no burns, and nothing to _think_ about. 

 

 

Brink was watching TV when he got back to apartment. He felt like shit, having taken hit after hit before he felt tired and hungry, and he was nauseous from the drive back. She glanced at him but pretended not to care as he stumbled to sit on his bed. 

He ran his hands through his hair and tried to focus on the television, but he wanted to lie down beside her and fall asleep. Her texts had made him wary, though, and he half-expected a man to walk out from his kitchen with a cock at ready. 

Minutes passed and he realized they were alone. He looked at her feet, pressed against his thigh as she laid across the edge of the bed. He trailed his gaze up her thighs, where she covered her ass with boyshorts and nothing more. Was she trying to get him again? She could just force the situation and not make him think. He was too tired to think. 

He felt her skin before he realized he'd slapped his hand against her upper thigh, just beneath the swell of her ass. He gripped and watched her flesh tighten under his skin. She giggled and he felt the urge to pull her hip sideways, lying her flat. She laughed again, like she'd expected it, and he yanked her boyshorts down her thighs with an irreverent grunt. 

She cooed, "Damn, I thought you already got your dick wet." 

He didn't need that. He wanted that power again. He knew Defalt was the one who pushed him to be so coarse and aggressive, and he wanted to see that same need in her eyes that Trey had given him. 

He held himself up by a hand beside her head and watched her eyes as he dipped against her dry heat with his fingers. He dragged the had over her clit, across her stomach, to wrap around a breast tightly. She kept her eyes on his while he swept his fingers across her nipple, pebbling beneath his touch. He watched her pupils widen delicately while she bit her lip. 

He didn't let her get used to the touch, and immediately pressed his fingers back against her pussy. She spread her legs in need, arching towards him while he let his head fall forward to stare at her with a dark aggression. She whimpered as he teased against her clit and the light wetness building. 

His fingers pressed in suddenly, his knuckles bumping her pelvis, and he twisted his wrist to lubricate her with what little excitement she'd had. Brink let her jaw fall open as he curled his fingers against soft tissue, pressing her walls open against his touch. She moaned and wriggled her hips, wanting more. Instead, he felt a grin tease at his lips and he moved his fingers even more slowly, refusing to let her feel the relief of thrusts. 

She moved her arms to grab him, likely wanting to take control, but he sat up and took the chance to take her small wrists in his free hand. He leaned forward again to pin her, continuing the excruciating slowness of his fingers exploring her pussy and his thumb grazing her swollen clit. 

His voice was husky when he finally spoke, "You're a crazy bitch... But you're still just a slut for me." 

A gleam of anger flashed through her expression before she let the words encourage her to be just that - his slut. She arched her back, bouncing her tits for him, and moaned languidly, loudly enough for his cock to twitch. He laughed shortly and rewarded her with several hard thrusts of his fingers, curling to reach deep inside of her. Her face was turning a light red and she slammed her eyes shut. 

He demanded lowly, "Don't fucking look away." 

Her eyelashes fluttered with hesitancy, but she met his gaze again. Her eye twitched when she felt his ring finger add to the stretching digits and she threw her head back to grind her hips against him. He had to push her thighs farther apart to fit all three fingers, and thrusting them into her made a lewd, wet sound that seemed to make her blush. She moaned like a whore in a porno, letting her pitch heighten with every pounding of his knuckles, and turn into a whining beg when he'd pull away. 

He wanted to control her entirety. She had wanted so much when they fucked, but he would make her settle and love it. She still watched him with half-lidded eyes and he smirked, growling, " _Cum for me, little slut."_

The words made her pussy clench around him, but he refused to let her tighten as he drove into her, widening his fingers to feel her wetness between them. 

Her body was quick to obey, and her voice seemed to disappear while he slammed against her clit and twisted his digits inside her. She tried to speak, but her lips only made her moans stutter. She rocked her hips against him, refusing to close her eyes despite the glazed, orgasmic sheen. 

She finished with a panting sigh and let her body fall back against the bed in exhaustion. He let his hands leave her skin to arch himself over her. She looked curious as to what he planned to do, but was too lost in her fading glow to move. 

Jay dipped his head and kissed her. Brink seemed surprised at his softness, but responded in kind, a delicate touch that felt foreign between them. He pressed her lips only enough for her to part her own and he brushed his tongue against hers with no domination, no aggression, and nothing to remind her of what she'd done. 

Instead, it felt _loving._ It was as though he was helping her down from her high or had forgotten the angry words they'd shared. She hadn't entirely expected him to give in - in fact, she hadn't expected him to ever touch her with the same weakness of a lover.

When he pulled away, he watched her with a look she couldn't place. It was softness and ownership, defensiveness and vulnerability. He didn't say any life-changing words - instead, he pressed their foreheads together and pecked her cheek before leaving the bed to disappear into the bathroom. 

Brink threw a blanket over herself in a new sense of exposure. He _felt_ shit. She knew it. He'd dominated her to prove he could, only to prove to himself that he seemed _happy._ She brushed he blanket against her cheek in thought. Her plan had been based on the idea that he was trapped and unwilling, which she'd never expected to fade. She had seen them playing the game of cat and mouse before he'd finally break and kill her or disappear.

But now, he was in the shower and she had thoughts of kissing him and holding him and watching him sleep in the dark and it made her stare unblinking at the far wall. Technically, she'd won. 


End file.
